Work Text:
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas.”
No. Not again.
“There is just one thing I need.”
Hongjoong is going insane.
“I don’t care about the presents,”
This is how he dies.
“Underneath the Christmas tree.”
Going insane from Christmas songs overload.
“I just want you for my own,”
Not that it would be that bad.
“More than you could ever know.”
Because with this keeping up, he’s one slump away from his boss wanting to have a word with him.
“Make my wish come true,”
He stares at the ceiling with his now usual grimace, waiting for the final verse.
“All I want for Christmas -”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘is you’, I know, you know, everyone knows. Thanks Mariah.” He gets up from his chair with a sigh. “Might as well make myself a coffee.”
It started two weeks ago. Almost like some Christmas clockwork was installed in his new neighbour – really new, Hongjoong remembers the moving truck in late October parked outside the apartment block, but he had been in way too much of a hurry, as usual, to wait and introduce himself (it wasn’t like he had ever socialized with anyone around here but the single mother who lived in the unit next door, when she had asked once for a bit of sugar).
On December 1st, Hongjoong had been in his usual production mind zone at dinner time (he lives alone, sue him for inappropriate routines) when Michael Bublé’s “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas” started echoing from his ceiling.
Just who the hell even listens to Michael Bublé willingly after 9pm?
His neighbour, that’s who.
Hongjoong assumes they work during the day on weekdays, probably the regular 9 to 5 job that he isn't going to waste time dwelling on, because the music only starts usually around 7pm from Monday to Friday, and stays until around 10pm, when Hongjoong assumes his neighbour hits the bed.
He wasn’t as lucky during the two weekends he’s experienced. Saturdays and Sundays the music starts at 11am, and stays until bedtime. Just 11 straight hours of Christmas songs. For the past fortnight, Hongjoong has become acquainted with the fact that EXO have far more winter songs than he was aware of, that nowadays it seems like every pop artist wants to have their own Christmas anthem (Seriously Ariana? Even you?), and that George Michael, Bublé and Mariah probably make enough during the season out of one song to fund their expenses for the upcoming year.
Now don’t get him wrong. Hongjoong is a music producer. He loves songs. All songs. He has his own appreciation for the modern Christmas carols. But he doesn’t have much going on for himself outside of work except for the occasional hang out with his friends, so he ends up also working a lot at home, making songs. Making beats hasn’t been troublesome, his headphones cancel out any noise, but usually, writing lyrics demands that everything around him be silent. Just him, the occasional buzzing from cars outside, and his inspiration flowing.
Besides, with the holiday season, his boss has been ordering them all to do more telework, which means Hongjoong is now usually home by 5pm, and every day has been a rush to be productive in the two hours he usually has before the Christmas fest starts up again at 7. Just like now.
He completely understands that this is a cheap building, that the units are miniscule (his is literally just a small bedroom majorly occupied by his bed and overfilling wardrobe, a bathroom, and an open floor plan with his kitchen and living room space that also has to accommodate his desk – all two keyboards, two screens and drum pad of it). He understands that the walls are paper thin so it’s not anyone’s fault that sometimes everyone can hear the noise they make (like the couple downstairs going at it). He knows that the songs aren't even playing that loud on his neighbours end, the architecture is just that shitty.
He also understands that he probably made a lot of ruckus on his birthday – or better, his friends did, Hongjoong is a saint next to any Yunho, Mingi or San, and especially next to a Wooyoung – and that leaving a note about it on his neighbour’s mailbox the day before, because he was on a rush to work, as usual, maybe just didn’t cut it, especially when said neighbour had only been living there for some days.
But was this revenge by intensified Christmas spirit really needed? Because that ought to be it. Christmas isn’t even that much of a big deal in Korea. No one in this world is that much of an angelical soul as to truly enjoy the Holiday’s spirit that much. Hongjoong doesn’t know who this neighbour is, has never crossed paths with them, but he's assumed for a while now that it’s a woman, either an elderly on a middle aged one, that can endure the songs just to rattle his bones on purpose – Hongjoong is very gay and women are damn scary (terrifying), sue him for thinking like this.
But whatever conspiracy theory he may come up with, whatever are the reasons for his neighbour to have Justin Bieber telling them daily that Santa Claus is coming to town, it doesn’t matter in the end. The results are the same. Hongjoong is still trying to come up with something that remotely looks like lyrics in, deadlines are still looming at the label, and he still can’t focus because Mariah is still telling them all what she wants for Christmas.
The company asked him to make a good rap b-side for an up-and-coming kpop boy group, and the deadline is January. He hasn’t been with the company for long in the grand scheme of things, little over two years since he graduated and got the job offer, and this is the first time trust has been laid upon him like this. He’s expected to present a full demo – lyrics, instrumental, the whole shebang – in a month, and so far he has a not so bad instrumental, that he’s been developing mostly at the company, where he can milk all his mentors for as much guidance as he can, and a… a very subpar amount of lyrics. Two precisely, written right now on his computer screen and mocking his existence.
He’s tried it all, really. Song writing in the computer, song writing in his trustworthy notebook overflown already with unfinished ideas and throw about lyrics, song writing in his fridge’s chalkboard. But Hongjoong needs some time to get in his zone. To be one with his thoughts, so he can easily convey him on paper. Two hours isn’t enough, at all, so for the past days, by the time he feels ready to pen down his most inspired feelings, some Bieber or some Baekhyun returns to remind him that it's Christmas time, and that this might either his first big production for the company, or the demise that gets him fired.
He looks out his window as the steam from his coffee mug fogs up his glasses. He uses them because of the amount of hours he spends at the computer, but he’s starting to wonder if they will be of any use today, if all he did in the two hours he survived in silence was come up with those two miserable verses.
He thinks of how his neighbour is on par with the trends too. Last Sunday, the city had its first snow fall so, while Hongjoong took care of his 4pm lunch – he couldn’t just leave his desk when he was on his headphones in the zone! – it was like clockwork. Gently from the ceiling, EXO’s ‘First Snow’ started playing. Aware of the tradition from the past years to have it topping the charts of the country on the first snow of the season, Hongjoong found himself endeared with the neighbour’s actions for the first - and so far, only – time since the daily playlist madness started.
As a mother and daughter cross the road and thank the driver that stopped for them with a light wave, Hongjoong finds himself intrigued once again with the person above his ceiling.
Only his friend San had seen them once, or that’s what he told him. When in mid-November Hongjoong ran late at the studio (nothing new), but invited him and Wooyoung for dinner, he let the two know the passcode so they could let themselves in, and according to San, his neighbour had let a shirt drop on his balcony from his own, where his clothes were drying.
According to his friends, Wooyoung was still grabbing the fabric from the balcony, having seen it falling, when someone rang the door and San took it upon himself to answer. Hongjoong didn't dwell much on the subject when they told him, more worried about the takeout he had brought on his way home that was seducing his nostrils with promises of really good ramen, but asked the bare minimum.
San told him they looked worried about the trouble they had caused, apologized, and tried introducing themselves, to what San had explained that neither him or his boyfriend lived in the apartment, but that it was no problem.
“I even apologized if the shirt got dust on it because you never clean your balcony.”
“Oi!” he yapped indignant while slapping his bicep. “What will the lady think of me now? Jesus San!”
“Lady?” Wooyoung asked him from his place on the couch.
“Yes.” he replied from his seat at the kitchen, “They vacuum like, a lot. I figured it’s probably some lady, maybe an elderly, who likes to keep her unit pristine.” Perhaps it wasn’t okay for Hongjoong to make assumptions like these, but one month later, given the incessant Christmas spirit, his preconceived notions only gained more form.
San and Wooyoung traded a look at the comment that Hongjoong tried to decipher for all of two seconds before shrugging it off as one of those sexually charged moments they tended to share at the most inappropriate moments, or those where they communicated almost telepathically, having entire conversations with their eyes.
It ended with devious smirks on both ends, that had him shuddering disgusted, and San slyly replying to him.
“Guess so, hyung.”
**
There’s a new contestant today. An album that Hongjoong had yet to listen echoing from above. He wonders if there’s anything special about the 18th, anything related to the Grinch, but a quick internet search leads him nowhere. The movie premiered on December 1st. And yet, on this fine Sunday, Hongjoong’s already listened to the full soundtrack of the 2000 movie some four times since his neighbour pressed play at 11am.
Maybe they forgot about it and are now making up for that by listening to it on loop.
Hongjoong’s ears are proverbially bleeding by the time the sixth playing rolls around, but if he’s right about his supposition… well that’s just adorable of his neighbour, no matter what kind of person they are.
On the 19th, they’re back to the good old Mariah-EXO-Bublé etc rooster. But between the shuffles, some songs that he recognizes from yesterday pop back too. Maybe Hongjoong really was right.
**
On the 23rd, Hongjoong snaps.
In all fairness, he thinks it’s justified. Just this morning, his not so friendly deadline of “sometime in January” had been officialised to the very unfriendly January 15th. Which is less than a month. It's barely three weeks, and writing lyrics takes time. It is a long process and Hongjoong was tasked with a full song, all the lyrics are to come out of his imagination, and he has been very unsuccessful with it. The past three weeks are a testament to that. His lyrics are currently at a solid six lines, what Hongjoong had hoped would eventually form at least chorus, but when he looks at it, he knows they’re shit. He’s done so much better since he started at the label.
So he’s a bit high strung. Deadlines are looming, the fear that he really might get fired for this is starting to form in his mind, and when he's finally thought he will have a semblance of a new full verse in his notebook today… a very chirpy “Feliz Navidad” interrupts his process.
They’re not even in Spain!
Hongjoong endures a solid one hour of the Christmas anthems, before he’s had enough. Today is just not a good day.
Removing from his supply closet his barely used broom, he gets up on his couch and aggressively hits the ceiling with the stick some ten times.
“HEY! I KNOW IT’S FUCKING CHRISTMAS BUT SOME OF US HAVE TO WORK, ASSHOLE! ENOUGH OF THIS MUSIC, C’MON!” He screams with all the annoyance he has kept for himself for 23 days now.
George Michael almost immediately stops telling them all about giving someone his heart for Christmas.
Hongjoong pauses in the silent that envelops him, almost scared to take a breath. Has it really stopped? Has his neighbour heard him out?
He counts sixty seconds to himself. Nothing, nada. Only silence, the whirring of his computer tower and fridge, and his breathing. He raises his head satisfied, eyes closing and smile forming, while he eases himself off the couch.
Thank god. Thank Santa. Silence. Blessed silence. He can finally work.
“Thanks neighbour.” He whispers into the ceiling, not having expected it to be this easy, and sits himself again at his desk. Maybe he should have thought of this on day one.
For the first time in weeks, Hongjoong spends a solid six hours working nonstop at his desk, going from writing lyrics in blessed silence to rearranging the beats so they fit the verses better, and by the time he gets up at 2am to perhaps indulge in a very late dinner, he can proudly say that a good third of the song is finished.
**
The silence blessedly stays on the 24th.
Of course, because Hongjoong won’t look a gifted horse in the mouth, he calls his friends late morning and says he won’t be making it to the Christmas dinner they had agreed upon some days before. Of course, they all protest, Wooyoung particularly loud as he wanted to cook for everyone, but when Hongjoong explains his deadline and honest need to use the inspirational streak he has been feeling before it went away, they understand.
First of all, they know how Hongjoong works, and that it’s too late to try to convince him otherwise. Second, they too know what it is like to have deadlines of doom at work. So they all wish him a good Christmas Eve, and tell him that he’ still welcome to show up if he feels like it, no matter the hour, but that he please don’t forget to eat. Hongjoong says a very rare “love you all” in reply.
This is Korea anyway. No point in importing traditions from the West. They have Chuseok, which he spent very nicely in September both with his friends and with his family, like any other Korean person.
He’ll just indulge in Christmas next year.
It’s 7pm when someone rings the bell.
Hongjoong frowns. Did his friends choose to ignore him and decide to show up unannounced instead? No, they wouldn’t, they have always respected Hongjoong’s work ruts, except when they know he’s toying the line of unhealthy. Which he isn’t. He even ate… seven hours ago. Okay, maybe not that healthy, but he doesn’t feel hungry. His work is being too productive for that.
The bell rings again.
He sighs, hoping it’s just the lady next door. She better not need sugar again, he ran out yesterday.
“Coming!”
He opens the door absentmindedly, looking up from his house slippers to –
Hongjoong must have died. It has to be that. He died, and somehow, somewhere, being a gay man who has engaged in intercourse outside of the matrimonial bed and smoked pot occasionally wasn’t enough to cast him in hell, because at his door right now stands an angel.
Or maybe it’s a fairy. Either designation would fit, with the lovely cotton candy hair falling onto the man’s brown eyes, a gentle although hesitant smile marring his features. Hongjoong thought fairies carried magical wands instead of Tupperwares, like the one clutched in the man’s hands (pretty hands, of course), but he won’t hesitate to change his beliefs just to justify this apparition at his door.
“Hi.” the angel fairy speaks, with a slightly deep voice – that fits him perfectly, Hongjoong thinks immediately. He wonders if the man would allow him to marry his voice alone. Or his entire self, preferably.
He barely gets out of his trance before realizing the angel is still speaking.
“I’m Park Seonghwa, your neighbour from upstairs?” The angel affirms with a hesitance that makes the sentence sound like a question.
Hongjoong takes his sweet time processing the information, and then his brain freezes.
Oh, San is going to be murdered. The ‘heart stopping’, ‘no traces left’, ‘no written will’, kind of murder. He is. Hongjoong will take care of it. It’s a pity that Wooyoung will have to search by himself for the house the two are saving up to buy together, but San needs to be held accountable. He could, in fact should, kill Wooyoung too, but it's important that one deviant remains, to never forget how the two crossed Hongjoong so crassly, toyed with him this mercilessly.
Because they dared chuckle when Hongjoong mentioned that one time 'the lady from upstairs'. They were the picture of nonchalance, nor denying nor confirming anything, knowing that eventually Hongjoong would meet his demise. Assholes, the two. Absolute dickwads.
“H-Hey.” He manages to croak out, to his own amazement. He feels like a mere rock on the road in the presence of this all-grand being.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting, I wasn’t even sure if you would be home, since it’s Christmas, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try, I -” He pauses for a breath. Hongjoong can only look with his mouth agape. “I wanted to apologize. For the Christmas songs, I never thought –”
Oh, yes, that. Never mind San and Wooyoung. Hongjoong is the asshole.
The assholest.
Yesterday he yelled at this man. This man, with pink hair and rosy cheeks and boxy smile, who’s still clutching a Tupperware for reasons unbeknownst to him, hesitantly swinging on his feet. Hongjoong dared yell at him.
“I only asked the person living next door if the music bothered them, and they said no, and since I’m on the last floor, there’s no one above, and I forgot to consider that I could be bothering the person below…” He shakes his head, disapproving of his own actions. “I’m really sorry if I caused you trouble.” He extends his arms out, motioning for Hongjoong to take the box from his hands. “Here, uh… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
Hongjoong looks between the box and the angel – Seonghwa, his name is Seonghwa. “I- I didn’t say it.”
“Oh.” His cheeks flush. Too cute. “Sorry, I didn’t let you speak.”
“No, no, I was the one who stayed silent. I’m Kim Hongjoong.”
He’s graced with a smile that he’s sure he has never done anything good enough to deserve being in the receiving end of. “Hongjoong-ssi then. Maybe this is not enough, and I hope this can count as an apology and not an insult, but I made some chicken stew for Christmas… and I’m all alone upstairs, there’s no way I’m going to eat this all by myself anyway, so I brought you some. I hope you enjoy it.”
No, he’s definitely dead. There’s no way this man, who looks like the personification of heaven, came to his door offering him food as an apology for the possibility of having bothered him. He did bother Hongjoong – not that he will ever let his neighbour know – but not enough to warrant such an offer. No one is ever just this nice. The fact that he turned down the music was already a bigger courtesy than Hongjoong expected.
“I – Seonghwa-ssi, I’m the one who should be apologizing! There’s no need to sacrifice you Christmas food! I was so rude yesterday, I should have gone to your door and ask you to lower the volume, but no, I yelled at you like a maniac -”
“Please, if you’ve been listening to the music since day one, you were probably in your right to be mad. I know the Christmas spirit isn’t for everyone. I uh -”
“Still, I’m sure there’s someone that you will be with, that this stew is for –”
“Not at all, I'm alone today. I actually – I just moved back here from the United States, it’s where I got all these Christmas habits from. I studied there for five years, and Americans really take the holiday spirit to heart. I’m used to hearing Christmas music all of December everywhere I go, and to spending Christmas Eve like the westerns do. Some friend from college would usually invite me over to their family’s house, and I always brought some form of food with me because I enjoy cooking a lot, and I –” he pauses and his cheeks flush momentarily. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“No, not at all! It must be interesting to experience Christmas in America. They really take it seriously, right?”
Seonghwa chuckles. “They do. Some cities even hold competitions over who has the best decorated house.”
“Wow.”
“Yup.” He nods amused. “And I guess I kind of miss it. I’m used to celebrate it like that now too. I would have gone to see my family and ask them to celebrate with me, but I can’t just leave work when I barely even started, and the only friend I’ve made so far at the publisher -”
“Publisher?” Hongjoong interrupts.
“Yes, I’m a translator.” He smiles (disgustingly sweet). “I work in translation from English and French.”
God, this man speaks French. Hongjoong is probably deep asleep and this is actually a dream where he’s fantasizing about the ideal man, presenting itself in the form of Seonghwa, the fairy angel.
“But yes, my only friend had plans with his boyfriend, so I didn’t want to be a bother, which means,” he gives a small shrug, “I’m alone today, just me and my cooking spree.” He motions again for the Tupperware that Hongjoong still hasn’t taken. “So please, take this. I don’t know if you’ve cooked yourself something, or if you have any plans for tonight or tomorrow, but even so… Eat this whenever you want, it should be good on the fridge for the next three days. Really, it would mean a lot to know someone else enjoyed my Christmas food.”
Hongjoong hesitates for another second before accepting the box into his hands. “Well, now I’d feel bad if I didn’t take it. Are you really sure?”
“Yes, yes. Feel free to return the box when you can. I will want to know if you liked it!”
“I’m sure I will.” And he is. The smell wafting from the closed lid already tells him enough.
“I hope so.”
They stare at each other for the next seconds, not exactly awkwardly, just letting everything settle. At least from Hongjoong’s end. He’s just taking in the features of the man in front of him.
Seonghwa really is pretty. And with a kind heart on top of it. Hongjoong had long accepted that only his friends remained in the world under such category.
“Well, I –” Seonghwa interrupts his thoughts. “I should be going now. I’ve taken up enough of your time. Once again, I’m sorry about the songs, I’ll use my pods from now on. And I hope you do like the food.”
“I told you, I know I will. I’m sorry that I yelled at you yesterday, I mean it. I should have done things differently.”
“It’s okay. All in the past.” Seonghwa shrugs him off. “I’ll be going now. Merry Christmas Hongjoong-ssi.”
“Merry Christmas to you as well.”
Hongjoong watches as the man gives him one final small bow and turns around in the direction of the stairs, opting out of the elevator since there’s only a one floor difference between them.
He stares at his retreating back for three more seconds, before he makes up his mind.
“Seonghwa-ssi!” He calls out, nervousness in his voice. Is he really doing this?
The man turns back hesitantly. “Yes?”
“If uh… If you’re alone today, with all that stew. I’m… I’m alone too! With all this stew now.” He smiles motioning for the box. “Why don’t we share it? You could stay?”
Did Hongjoong cancel on his friends purposefully so he could stay home working? Yes. Would this delay even more his artistic process? Yes. Would he feel awful for the rest of the day, or week, or life, if he stayed home knowing this angel was alone all by himself upstairs? Hell yes.
So the offer is on the table. He hopes Seonghwa takes it.
“Oh, I… I don’t want to be a bother, you must have things to do, like yesterday –”
“Please. I insist. It would be my pleasure.”
The two stare at each other for some seconds that look endless to Hongjoong, until he’s replied to with a toothy grin. Oh, that smile is going to mean danger if he continues being exposed to it like this. “Are you really sure?”
“Yes! Absolutely.”
“Then I’d love to.”
Hongjoong smiles giddy at him. “Great, that’s great, very good, yes! Come on in then! I’m sorry if it’s a bit messy.”
“Yes, I – Wait. I should go grab my slippers and phone from upstairs. My friend might call. Is that okay? I’ll be fast, I promise!”
“Don't worry, take your time! I’ll go set the table. The code is one one one seven, so just let yourself in.”
“Okay! I will go then! I uh- I’ll be right back!”
Seonghwa comes back 10 minutes later, phone in his pocket and the entire stew pot in his hands, happiness radiating from his entire self.
Hongjoong asks him for the device and connects it to his Bluetooth speakers, before extending it back to the owner. “C’mon, put your Christmas playlist on. I think one day without it is enough for me.”
And really, if Seonghwa keeps grinning like this every time Hongjoong does something for him, he won’t survive for long.
(“Hey, I’m sorry if I shouldn’t ask or something but… last week. What was that on Sunday?”
“Uh?”
“The Grinch day?”
“Oh.” A blush spreads through Seonghwa’s face, making it the same colour as his hair. Cute. “That, uhm… In America, that movie is like, really famous, everyone watches it on the holidays, and I love it a lot, but I had totally forgotten about how – I forgot that I could -” he stops and shakes his head vehemently, “No, that I should have been listening to its songs too. So it was kind of like, to make up for lost time?”
Hongjoong smiles brightly at him, Seonghwa caressing his nape bashfully.
So he was right. Shit. That was cute. Too cute, now that he knew it came from a pink aired angel that chose to visit him on Christmas.
“Guess I was right, then.”)
****
There's something pressing against Hongjoong’s face, rousing him from his sleep.
And then there are two somethings pressing more insistently. Against his cheeks, against his nose.
The two something are pressing repetitively, giving him short slaps.
He grunts, now definitely awake, as a weight deposits itself on top of him, with no care for his internal organs.
“Daddy.”
“Uhm.” He grumbles with his eyes still closed. Next to him, an amused chuckle lets him know that no one is on his side this morning.
“Daddy!” Comes more insistently, closer to his ears.
He accepts the defeat and opens his eyes, facing the five-year-old currently making herself comfortable on his chest, her small hands still cupping Hongjoong’s face.
She smiles, all gums and one tooth already missing at the front, when she realizes she's been successful in her mission. “Daddy! You’re awake.”
“Uhm, yes I am. You woke me up.”
“Yes!” she nods proudly. “Daddy, do you know what is today?”
He makes his best clueless face. “No, I don’t.”
“It’s Chrimas day!”
A giggle echoes in Hongjoong’s left ear, proceeded by a morning voice deepened from sleep. “Honey, I told you, it’s not. It’s Christmas Eve today.”
She looks to her right and nods vehemently. “Yes! Chrimas Eve! It’s the day we cook this much,” she opens her small arms as much as she can, “and we decowate the house becuz all my uncles come for dinnah, and we put pesents under the tee, and make cookies for Santa, and we play Chrimas musics, and dada’s musics, and -”
“Hey,” Hongjoong calls for her with a small tickle on her sides that has her squirming on her designated seat and giggling for a second, “take a breath sweet bean.”
This quiets her for a moment, and the two look at each other, the child with all the mirth in the eyes that comes from having succeeded in her mission – having her dad up – and Hongjoong with nothing but fondness for this ray of sunshine, this light that chose them as much as they chose her, all those years ago now, when she had been nothing but a burping baby that vomitted all over them with an excited giggle the first time they ever visited the adoption institution.
“Why didn’t you wait for us to wake up like you usually do?” Hongjoong asks while pinching her cheek.
She shakes her head. “No can’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Becuz I need to wake daddy up and be eccited and tell you all abouw Chrimas because papa said you like Chrimas just if you ale with us.”
“Oh, he did?” He turns his head on his side, raising a playful eyebrow at the man smirking shamelessly at him.
“Did you tell our daughter she needed to wake me up?”
The two reply to him at the same time, giving Hongjoong the answer he needs.
“Of course not.”
“Yes. Papa said I need to wake up daddy.”
He nods at both with a smirk. “I see. Well, your papa is a menace, don’t follow what he says. Only do as I say from now on, okay?”
Their precious sunshine giggles at him and at the offended man on his side, and hides herself behind her hands. “Okay daddy.”
“Now why don’t you go put all forks and the spoons on the table, and papa and I will be right there to make breakfast with you?”
“Tee foks, tee spoons?” she holds up three of her short fingers.
“Exactly baby!”
“Okay!” She nods excited. “I wiw put them now!”
“We’ll be right behind you bean, don’t run on the stairs.”
“I won’t papa!”
No one is at all on Hongjoong’s side today, because as soon as the light weight on his chest turns into the pitter-patter on the floor of a child who is definitely running towards the stairs, exactly like her parents told her not to, he gets a much heavier weight on top of him, mercilessly draping himself all over Hongjoong, who grunts again, this time at the face hoovering over his with a cheeky smile.
“You’re not your five-year-old daughter, Seonghwa.”
A dark, thick eyebrow disappears into the black strings of Seonghwa’s fringe, the poster picture of a deadpan stare. “I seem to recall a handful of circumstances where you had no complaints over me being in this position.”
“Oh, so that’s the game you wanna play?”
“And what if it is?”
Hongjoong eyes him for two seconds before mercilessly grabbing Seonghwa’s hips to start tickling him senselessly.
The man squirms helplessly while trying to control his yelps. “Okay, okay Joong, I’ll stop!” He yells mid-laughter, “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Hongjoong gives him the mercy he asks for, stopping the tickling session. Seonghwa is lucky he loves him so much. The two collect their breaths, mirror smiles etched on their features.
“Morning Joong.”
“Good morning angel.”
Seonghwa's cheeks still tint a rosy pink even after all these years, never ready for the few (but often enough) occasions in which Hongjoong throws out unexpected pet names like this. It boosts him enough to spiel out his own.
“Happy anniversary mon amour.”
Oh, how Hongjoong will always be weak for Seonghwa speaking French. He smirks coyly, nonetheless. Teasing him is always more fun than anything else. “But Seonghwa, we got married in July.”
His husband disentangles his hand from Hongjoong’s – which has been entangled with his since they stopped with the tickles – just to lightly tap him on the forehead.
Yeah, he deserved that.
“Shut up asshole, you know what I mean.”
Hongjoong keeps feigning ignorance. “I really don’t, if I seem to remember correctly, we started dating in March, three months after we met, and our bun came home in October, so I really don’t see what this –”
Seonghwa puts his palm against Hongjoong’s mouth. “Shut up, you menace, don’t tease me!” he all but whines, “We met on Christmas Eve.”
Hongjoong grins from behind his hand, silently asking Seonghwa for permission to speak. His husband gives in and removes his hand, hoping Hongjoong has stopped being cheeky for now.
He should have known better. “Oh, is that so? Interesting, very interesting, didn’t know it meant that much to you. What did we do on that day? It wasn’t exactly memorable –”
“I can’t stand you, Hongjoong, I swear.” Seonghwa whines while supressing his our amusement. “You. Are a devil.”
“Well, but I’m your dev-”
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas.”
Hongjoong pauses, and Seonghwa halts too.
“There is just one thing I need.”
From downstairs, an always timeless Mariah Carey has started singing about the one thing she wants for Christmas. A chirping child squeal echoes as well, clearly excited about her successful endeavour.
“I don’t care about the presents,”
Hongjoong must be going insane.
“Underneath the Christmas tree.”
But no, he’s not, it’s true. Their daughter, five years old only, but with Seonghwa’s wit, and Hongjoong penchant for needing to know anything if it relates to music, managed to turn on the living room’s sound system.
“PAPA! I want pench toast!”
Hongjoong and Seonghwa eye each other, sharing that giddy smile that can only be understood between two people who love each other and that have a small, beautiful proof of how far they’ve come, running havoc in a house that is their home.
Maybe they've had enough teasing and lazying in bed between them today. Maybe they should go downstairs already.
They do have a star waiting for them there.
Seonghwa gives him a short kiss, lips etching again into a smile still touching Hongjoong’s.
“Happy one decade since we met.”
“Mhm, happy ten years Hwa.”